


Grand Cru

by drinkbloodlikewine, whiskeyandspite



Series: Winter Mornings - HeAteUs Survival Plan [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay, Shameless Smut, Wanton Debauchery, Wine, this is what we promised to help through the he-ate-us
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 20:52:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1792846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drinkbloodlikewine/pseuds/drinkbloodlikewine, https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeyandspite/pseuds/whiskeyandspite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He imagines kissing the taste of Henri Jayer Richebourg Grand Cru from Will's lips as the younger man murmurs protests against him for the price of it but opens his lips for him regardless as Hannibal feeds him more from his tongue."</p><p>- from <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1759593">Ya'aburnee</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Grand Cru

**Author's Note:**

> written in a moment of a gleeful inspiration from the aforementioned line in Part Three of [Ya'aburnee](http://archiveofourown.org/series/103067)

"Henri Jayer Richebourg Grand Cru," Hannibal reiterates, pouring Will some into a glass. He knows well that he will try - to smell, to swirl the wine, to keep it on his tongue.

He knows well enough that Will will drink it the same as any store-bought abomination.

"Sounds French," Will replies, taking his glass with a smile. "And expensive."

Hannibal hums, watches Will live up to his predictions perfectly before taking a moment to smell his own wine, eyes closed, before taking some between his lips.

Exquisite. Rich and heavy, and worth its cost.

"It is both," he agrees, licking his lips and imagining Will’s spicy arousal simmering beneath. The thought tilts his lips.

"A sixteen thousand dollar price in America. But quite worth the effort of acquiring it."

He watches as Will chokes, and Hannibal takes another sip.

"Sixteen - hundred," Will suggests gently, a correction he hopes applies, although even that amount is hard for him to speak.

"Thousand," comes the easy reply, and Will goes still for a moment. He stares into the glass, nothing less than aghast, and only just restrains himself from setting it down again. That would be rude.

After a long moment passes, Will clears his throat. "This costs more than my car.” A laugh, just a breath, of disbelief. "More than three of them." He tastes his lower lip again, pensive, and wonders how much even that taste costs. How much the wine would cost by sip. By glass.

He doesn't dare insult Hannibal by assuring him that it's wasted on him, his palate singed to barren by overly spicy food and cheap booze and too much coffee. There's no way that Hannibal doesn't know that already.

His hesitation is noted in the barest arch of Hannibal's brow.

"What makes it worth so much?" A careful question, hesitant, and quite frankly terrified that he's going to drop the glass.

"The quality of the grapes," Hannibal says. “The skill with which they are handled. And of course the name attached."

His lips twitch in delight watching Will suddenly treat the wine like a diamond. He wonders if Will realizes how worthless the wine is compared to him, to Hannibal.

"It should be decanted," he adds, almost absently, brows furrowed gently in thought before gesturing for Will to take up the bottle and follow him.

"Wine must be aerated sufficiently, to allow for oxidization," he explains, leading the way upstairs to, amusingly, Will's surprise. He does, however, obediently follow.

Once in a while Hannibal indulges in... whimsy.

"Please." He gestures, watches Will set the bottle carefully on the side table before sitting on the edge of the bed as directed. He spreads his legs a little as Hannibal stands closer, glass still held between nervous fingers.

Hannibal tilts his chin up, just enough, and keeps his expression serious.

"Lie back, Will."

Will glances at the bottle, hesitant, as though it's suddenly going to throw itself off the table and he'll spend the rest of his year's salary covering the cost. A swallow, slow, before he sets his glass beside it.

"I'm not sure my palate is developed well enough for this," Will finally says, pretending not to hear the instruction and rubbing his hands along his legs. A flush of embarrassment as he realizes he's still in his boxers, threadbare and thin, and a t-shirt that has a hole forming in one of the arms, wholly underdressed to be anywhere near this degree of luxury.

Hannibal is unswayed, waiting expectantly, and Will sighs. He pushes himself back further onto the bed, now alarmed too at the prospect of how much the sheets beneath him cost - how much everything around him must cost - and blushing starkly. Pearls before swine, he remembers, some saying from his childhood, and he withholds another sigh as he lays back onto the bed, anxious eyes on Hannibal.

"The decanter is in the kitchen," Will interjects before Hannibal can move again. "You - you showed me before. From the bottle to the decanter, decanter to glass," he recites, a flurry of words and nervous fingers against the bed cover.

Pleased, Hannibal sets a knee to the bed between Will's legs.

He only ever allows such late days that their 'waking' renders wine plausible when Will spends the weekend.

"Clever boy," he praises, moving to lean over Will properly, smile almost predatory. "Today I wish to use another."

He lingers over Will, bare skin just brushing his shirt before he can sit up again.

"Glass contains the flavor, an admirable and convenient thing yet -"

He takes up Will's unfinished glass between careful fingers and regards it.

"- skin adds such a unique taste. Brings out the wine's warmth."

One hand slides beneath Will’s shirt, rucking it gently up against his stomach. He smiles as Will arches, sucks his stomach in.

"Stay still, Will," he warns, tilting the glass until the cool liquid slides over Will’s skin, pools in his navel.

He relishes the curse, the trembling, before pressing his mouth open and hot against the skin to suck it clean.

"Hannibal.” A mild warning as Will tries to slow his breath, to ease the gentle heaving of his stomach. "You don't have to do this."

His blush has spread now, from his neck to his chest.

"I just mean," he hesitates, watching the glass come nearer again, "I just mean that - we can - you know, do that again - without - "

Will's eyes widen as it tips, and he speaks quickly, "It's too expensive, you should save it for - for one of your dinner parties, or for -"

A sharply drawn breath quiets his stammer as he feels the wine cold against his stomach, wary of spilling it more than it's already been spilled on him. He watches the red wine pool on his pale skin and wonders forlornly how many hundreds of dollars that pour was worth.

"It's wasted on me," he whispers, a desperate humor spoken soft in fear of disrupting the liquid. "Actually on me, in particular."

Hannibal hums a displeased sound and deliberately relishes the taste from Will's skin. He can smell the soft musk beneath the alcohol, the nervous tension.

"I will teach you," he purrs, nipping Will’s skin gently, "just how worthy you are."

The shirt is pushed higher, the cold glass of the bottle lip, when he brings that up instead, leaving a line of goosebumps in its wake.

"And you will learn, Will."

The next few drops land against the soft hollow of Will's chest, and these Hannibal follows with a hot tongue immediately, shifting enough to suck a nipple between his lips, biting gently.

He absorbs every squirm and twitch, lets Will’s desperate stammers flow over him as he bites just a little harder.

"This," he breathes, plucking the shirt, "off."

Will nods breathless agreement, and sits up to tug the old shirt off over his head. He catches Hannibal's hand in his own, to keep the bottle at a distance, and presses into a warm kiss instead, tasting the wine on his lips, on his tongue, until Hannibal draws away just enough.

"Lay down, Will." A quiet insistence that draws another flustered sigh from Will.

He does as he's asked, of course, knowing better than to argue by now.

"We could just drink it, if it's going to be wasted any-" Will breathes through his teeth as more wine spatters against his chest, and slides in trails onto the bed.

"Shit," Will breathes suddenly,as he tries to sit up to catch it, clean it, something, eyes wide with absolute horror as the wine sinks staining dark into the bed cover. "Shit," hissed again, as the rest of what was poured on him trickles down his chest, leaving livid trails. "I didn't mean to - fuck - "

A growl, possessive, and Hannibal grips the back of Will's neck before kissing him deep, feeding him the heat of the wine, the subtlety of his own skin.

"Lie still, Will, I will not ask again." The words are fringed with almost desperate impatience, not anger, no threat.

"Forget the bed," he murmurs against Will's cheek, down his neck. "Lie still and let me show you this..."

Will blinks and swallows hard before nodding.

Wide-eyed, fascinated by the aggression, the affection, the note of irritation however fond that he's never heard so clearly before, Will lays back on the bed.

With an arrogant curve of his lips at drawing such a reaction, Will writhes as he lays down, just a shift of his hips in quiet defiance, before settling in.

Hannibal looks up, eyes on Will fully a moment before leaning in to kiss him, softer.

"You fascinate me in your ignorance, Will," he sighs, sliding one hand down Will’s side, caressing the sticky skin.

"In your determination to refuse to see."

Hannibal sighs, ducks his head to tilt Will's, settles his teeth against skin to gently suck there. His free hand slips between Will's legs.

It's not yet been an hour since Will had been panting his pleasure, and he responds beautifully. Hannibal hums, pleased.

His brows raise a little higher, and he would have laughed with surprise had Hannibal's hand not so suddenly distracted him. Of the many negative traits Will Graham has had pointed out to him in his life, _ignorance_ has never been one before now.

The word strikes enough to settle him and he bites his lip as Hannibal palms against him, restraining himself from pressing up against hand, from arching and curling.

Will, to his credit, remains remarkably still, despite the quiet sounds that fall softly past his lips.

He remains present, drawing back from digging into the small wound that the word opened in his ego, to instead observe. See. Learn what Hannibal insists on showing him by spilling thousands of dollars of wine across his skin.

A bare twitch of his stomach as Hannibal's hand twists up over the head of his cock, and he draws a breath, moaning eager past parted lips.

At the sound, Hannibal leans in to suck the skin where the wine dries. Associations of pleasure with this. _I will make you feel good. Let me make you feel good._

Hannibal meticulously cleans Will’s chest, kisses his way down his sides, laughs warmly when Will squirms at the ticklish touches.

When Hannibal sits up, kneels to sit between Will's thighs to spread them, he smiles. Hands slide warm to the soft fabric of the boxers, just under.

Will shivers.

One hand slides further still, rests against the soft curve of his groin. With his other, Hannibal takes up the bottle and takes a slow drink, eyes on Will's.

Will's mouth falls slack as though the drink were his to take, chest rising and falling in little panting breaths and eyes dark with desire, scarce blue to be seen around his pupils.

He watches fixated, struck by the sight of Hannibal's lips wrapped around the bottle, drinking greedily the wine that Will would have to mortgage his house to afford. The way Hannibal's throat works to swallow it down draws a whimper from Will, an unconscious sound, and he stirs just a little, hips rolling against Hannibal's hand, shifting beneath the possessive way he holds Will still against the bed.

Will spreads his thighs a little wider against Hannibal's knees and arches upwards, eyes heavy-lidded, his lithe body suddenly aching, begging for more wine to be spilled across it so long as Hannibal's lips follow in turn.

"Please," Will begs sweetly, softly, intoxicated by the debauchery of it and pleading flush-cheeked, eyes bright, with every uncontrolled undulation that drives him against Hannibal's hand.

The bottle lowers, eyes narrow, and Hannibal leans over Will enough to kiss him, lips cool from the bottle parting Will's own before the warm heady liquid passes from Hannibal's mouth to Will's.

Hannibal relishes the surprised sound, keeps their lips pressed tight together until Will swallows, pulls back enough to smile at him, eyes narrowed in pleasure, before kissing him again, his hand deliberately moving away from between Will's legs to cup his face, hold him close.

"Tell me how it feels," he requests softly. “All of it."

Will searches Hannibal’s eyes and curves up against him, tongue drawing soft across Hannibal’s mouth, to taste him and to taste the wine and to delight as a predatory pleasure comes over him.

“It’s warm,” Will responds, hesitantly. It all just tastes like wine to him so decides to describe the source of it instead, the warm mouth so close against his own. “Dense - complicated, even. There’s a caustic edge to it, but it’s very sweet. Sunlight and darkness, in equal parts.”

Watching wide-eyed from beneath his hair, Will stretches his hands back against the bedcover, grasping it eagerly in clenched fingers and drawing his leg up against Hannibal’s hip.

“More.” A breath, a firm insistence matched by the way he rubs his length against Hannibal’s own.

Hannibal sighs, tongue barely visible beneath his top lip as he touches it along his teeth, pleased with the response, with the way Will has allowed himself to bend to this. He grasps Will’s hair and tilts his head back, bottleneck cool against Will’s hot skin. He tilts it enough to pour the cold liquid against his throat, watches as it slides to pool in the hollow of Will’s collarbones, watches the way the young profiler lays still, just a gasp shifting the liquid against him.

Hannibal takes his times licking this spill away, tongue drawing the wine over Will’s skin to dry against it, leaving him nothing to taste, but everything to feel.

_You are worth more to me._

When he relents and kisses Will again, he doesn’t feed him more wine, bites Will’s lower lip and tugs when the other demands it, waits for him to say it again, that petulant word that vibrates over Will’s skin, through to Hannibal’s bones.

“More, please.” Polite, but for the glitter in his eyes.

“Open your mouth, Will,” Hannibal says.

Will doesn’t hesitate to obey, selfish - greedy - with want as he wraps his leg over Hannibal’s hips, pressing the lengths of their bodies close together. He resists the urge to touch Hannibal’s face, to push his fingers against his mouth and draw away the taste of wine to bring to his own lips instead, to grab his hair and force their mouths together.

His fingers tighten in the bedcover, resistance snapping fierce down his forearms, and he bends nearly onto his shoulders.

Body bare, pale but for streaks dried scarlet against him. Debauched down to the curl of his toes and wanton in the grin that catches one side of his mouth. Utterly coy in the imperious tilt of his chin.

If Hannibal will place him on a pedestal, then he’ll act as one deserving of such idolatry.

Lips unfurling slow, Will lets his mouth open, eyes hooded to mere slits, and as his jaw falls slack he extends his tongue, and a soft sound drives itself out of him in protest to the submission that he himself presents to Hannibal.

It is willingly taken, and Hannibal is careful to trickle just a slow, small stream of wine into Will’s mouth before setting the bottle away and kissing the taste from him.

It becomes an exchange, a deliberate give and take, and from gentleness it turns to urgency. Will’s body arching and pressing and begging against Hannibal, and Hannibal just as happy to return the affection. He rolls his hips against Will’s, swallows his needy pleased sounds, and drags his hands down Will’s body to hook behind his knees and hoist him higher up the bed.

“More?” he breathes, eyes barely open, lips brushing Will’s with every panted breath between them.

Will wriggles beneath Hannibal, writhing to sit up just enough to prop himself against the headboard. He grins and loops his leg over Hannibal’s shoulder, body bent deep for the motion, and stretches out to snare the wine in his hand, fingers stained red and body striped in scarlet.

He shakes the bottle, ignoring the lingering remnant of horror at the cost of the luxury now spilled across them both, and he arches a brow as he hears it slosh - just a little, just enough.

Eyes focused on Hannibal’s, Will runs his tongue along the neck of the bottle and takes it between his lips, pouring the last sip into his mouth. Carefully, more carefully than he should be able to considering how tipsy he is, Will holds cupped in the curl of his tongue as much of the last sip as he can.

And, with the corners of his open mouth tilted into a faint grin, he offers it to Hannibal.

This kiss is brutal, sending Will back against the headboard hard as Hannibal all but devours him whole, sucking the remainder of the wine from his tongue, growling in pleasure against him.

He’s as hard as Will is, and presses close against the bed with a grunt, sliding his hands under Will’s other knee to hook that over his shoulders as well, leaving Will bent and prone and open to him. When the bottle rolls across the bed and to the floor with a quiet thud, it hardly matters, it’s empty.

Sixteen thousand dollars worth of it now trapped beneath their skin or on it, and Hannibal could laugh for the absurdity. Will laugh, he knows, when Will comes to the next morning and realizes that they shared it between them, uncaring, either, by this point, for its worth. Here, it was worthless. Just a catalyst, a proof of something greater.

Hannibal’s fingers hook under the elastic of the boxers just enough to pull them lower, enough for Will’s cock to stick slick to his stomach in a delicious arch. He laughs, a brief exhale of air, before ducking his head to suck a dark bruise against the sensitive skin of Will’s inner thigh, the heady musk and heavy wine absolutely intoxicating to his senses.

Will tastes the wine from his mouth, lip caught between his teeth, and tilts his head to the side to watch as Hannibal's mouth presses to his thighs. The bruise draws a gasp that settles into a low groan, and he skims his fingers through Hannibal's hair, to guide him to his length, as flushed and pink as his cheeks now.

"More," he demands lightly again, a laugh escaping with a shiver as Hannibal breathes warm against his cock. He keeps his legs high over Hannibal's shoulders, toes curling pleasurably, fingers wrapping in his hair, curled around him feline and eager.

Leaning low, he whispers rough towards Hannibal, eyes lifted skyward in an approximation of innocence betrayed by the redness of his lips and the ruddiness of his cheeks. "I want you to pour yourself on me."

Wine-stained fingers pass across his own lips, chased by a grin. "So I can taste you off my skin, too."

Hannibal groans, eyes closing as his lips stretch in a pleased smile. Perhaps, he considers, playing with an entire bottle of expensive wine was both wise and unwise on an empty stomach.

But he adores Will like this, wanton and open and eager, and the adoration eclipses the small voice at the back of his mind that screams 'dirty' and 'messy' and 'wrong'.

He pulls back just enough to duck his head and work Will’s boxers off his legs, tossing them aside. Then Will is all limbs and begging and Hannibal doesn't deny him. He licks Will’s cock from base to tip, slow and deliberate until he feels it fill further, twitching and red between Will’s legs.

Will’s body curves in a languid roll, pressing himself harder against Hannibal’s tongue, and he gasps soft as his length falls back damp against belly, aching hard considering it merely an hour before this that he had found himself in a similar position.

“Look at you,” Will purrs soft, fingers catching beneath Hannibal’s jaw to feel his mouth work. A grin breaks wide and he draws a breath as Hannibal licks him again, their eyes meeting for an instant before Will’s roll shut again, pressing back into the pillow. “Look at what you do to me.”

His forefinger traces firm against Hannibal’s lips, parts them enough that he can press it against the firmness of Hannibal’s tongue, shivering hard when he sucks softly at the taste of wine still fresh on it. His breath shortens, stomach moving fast with the quick pants, and then draws his finger away to reach past Hannibal and press just a little against his opening instead, hips rocking slow as he enters himself, still pliant from before.

It's then that Hannibal takes him into his mouth, deep and deliberately slow, humming against him as Will opens up, legs sliding from his shoulders to spread wider, back arched in a long line as Will bites his lip and trembles in pleasure, taut and ready.

"Ask," Hannibal murmurs, pulling back just enough, "what you want, Will, use your words."

Words that he will shamelessly steal, turn to moans, unrelenting.

He can keep Will like this for a long time, leaking and desperate.

At this, another fierce blush, and Will bites his lip as if in resistance. A moment of nerves flares sharp despite his previous undulations and torrid words, and he runs his fingers down Hannibal’s cheek.

He wraps his hand around the back of Hannibal’s neck, fingers curling into his hair to bring him up between his thighs. Their lips brush as Will leans in closer to him, cheeks pressed together and words dripping sweet and intoxicating against Hannibal’s ear. As inelegant as the wine willingly wasted was luxurious, every bit the debauched opposite to Hannibal’s extraordinary good taste.

“I want you inside me.” Will’s breath hitches soft at the growl this earns, and he drapes his arms over Hannibal’s shoulders, grin broadening. “I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t walk when you’re done.”

Hannibal smiles, kisses the side of his neck, and bites him gently.

"Turn over," he growls softly. "Bend."

He makes it infinitely difficult for Will to obey, kissing him, holding him still as he squirms. He rewards him just as handsomely when Will turns over, hips hitched up, chest down against the bed.

"If you don't stay still you won't cum," Hannibal warns, nuzzling him against his lower back,  kissing there, biting the skin gently, before spreading Will wider and pressing against him, just teasing there with gentle rubbing, a thin layer of silk between them.

Will bites down on his lip so hard it hurts a little, watching Hannibal behind him from over his shoulder. He bends just a little lower still, stretching his arms out above his head to curl his fingers against the pillow, to open himself as much as he can.

He resists the urge to beg now, the words caught just behind his teeth for _please_ and _more_ and _hard_ , and instead releases a slow, shaking breath that accompanies the crooked grin in one corner of his mouth.

“Yes,” he responds simply, and in a fit of pique, adds a dryly amused, “sir.”

Hannibal laughs, a gentle snort, and bends over Will properly, lips against his ear.

"Do not tempt," he whispers, one hand working his own pants down until he’s pressed against Will fully, just barely breaching, enough to feel Will twitch. "Unless you expect this continued."

"I will have you, every way, Will, until you learn what you are to me."

Will groans, a smile wider on his face.

"What am I?"

Hannibal ducks his head, enough to bite Will’s shoulder as he start the slow, aching press into Will’s tight, warm body.

"Everything."

Will groans low and long into the pillow, heart racing with wine and words and the way that Hannibal feels stretching him slowly, so slowly that it’s all Will can do not to ride back on him and force him deeper, faster, harder.

His fingers stretch and curl in turn, grasping at air, at the pillows, even at the headboard as he takes Hannibal inside of him. A deep bend curves his back to arch his hips even higher, lips parted to allow vocal gasps - louder cries when Hannibal shifts into him, aching whimpers when he slows.

Sweet cruelty in the way Hannibals hands spread appreciatively over his back, and curl nails against him to draw his arched spine even more curved, and in the way he slows to nearly stopping any time Will even thinks of moving and Hannibal feels the responsive, unconscious twitches of his body.

After long minutes, feeling his cock begin to leak against the ruined bed cover, Will finally breaks with a huff of air, voice stifled against the pillow.

“Please,” he pleads, his cheeks fever red.

The word slides over him, smooth, and Hannibal speeds up, pushing harder against Will until he's moaning with it, hungry and needy and utterly desperate. He lets him move, writhe under the torment that curls his toes and bends him near-backwards.

Hannibal waits, for Will to be breathless, pulling away, pressing back... then he slides his hand through Will’s hair and grips it.

"Wider,” he breathes. Waits.

Will swallows hard, throat working as his head is bent back under the firm grasp of Hannibal’s hand. A soft noise escapes, a pleasure wholly unexpected from being guided so directly by Hannibal.

Harsh hands and insistent words, rather than a gentle molding.

His legs slide apart across the smooth surface of the bedcover, easing the bend in his back and pressing him closer to the mattress until he can nearly rub himself against it. He resists, though, fingers clutching hard against the sheets, and willingly obedient he waits with no more sound than the shuddering breathing that heaves his sides.

So pliant. So _good_.

Just rewards for obedience.

When Hannibal fucks into Will it's brutal, almost cruel in its intensity but the body beneath him is only willing. Soft moans turn to louder ones, to pleas and curses and helpless sobbing begging.

He curls his hand around Will’s cock and hushes him when he trembles.

"Shh, Will, just a little longer."

“Cruel,” Will accuses beneath his breath, but he’s unable to hide the warmth that takes any sting out of the accusation. He presses uselessly against Hannibal’s hand, the way it tightens to restrict the release that Will feels gathered tight like a spring in his stomach, fingers white-knuckled against the pillows.

A different tactic, desperate now, stars behind his closed eyes ready to brighten as soon as Hannibal’s hand relaxes.

“Please, sir.” A plea, small and soft and whimpered so sweetly as his toes press into the bed cover beneath the hard drive of Hannibal’s hips against him in reply. “P-Please let me, sir,” Will begs again, turning his cheek against the pillow watch Hannibal now through heavy-lidded eyes.

Hannibal curses, eyes closed, so close himself with Will like this. He would never ask Will to do this, say this, but being given it willingly...

"Now, Will, now.” The words are clipped, quick, breathless as he strokes Will through this, feels his body convulse in pleasure before going warm, pliant beneath him. And it’s enough to pull Hannibal there with him.

Whatever he says, it's not in English. The words seep through Will’s skin, soothe the trembling to sighs and stretching.

Will’s knees slide out slowly from beneath him until he collapses with a huff onto his stomach and Hannibal rolls beside him. He draws a sharp breath through his teeth before he makes himself roll over onto his back, arm over his eyes. He flinches when he does, and this too draws a pleasurable flush.

“What was the name of it?” Will asks, pulse still rushing hot in his ears. “The wine.”

“Henri Jayer Richebourg Grand Cru.”

Amusement crinkles the corners of Will’s eyes and he looks down the length of them both, before sliding a little closer to Hannibal, to kiss a stain away from the corner of his lips.

“I can’t imagine this is the pairing they had in mind for it.”

Hannibal’s laugh is warm, pleased, and he drapes an arm over Will’s middle, pulling him close.

"Improvisation is well worth the leap of faith,” he says, face pressed gently to Will’s damp hair. "Perhaps next time we can try it with dinner."

Will makes a sound, surprised, pleased, barely awake.

"Next time?"

Hannibal hums, hand up to curl around the back of Will's head, nails gentle against his scalp.

"There are two more bottles in the cellar,” he tells him.

Will’s mouth meets the hollow of Hannibal’s neck, kissing slow, tasting the sweat against his skin and the remnants of wine still sweet on his tongue. He draws closer, pulling the lines of their bodies fast together, and tucks his head beneath Hannibal’s chin.

A smile, bemused as ever by the absurdity of the man whose fond touch lingers long in his hair.

“Maybe next time I can decant it.”

 

**Author's Note:**

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